Anchor and Hope
by onyourleftinheels
Summary: It's been two years since the Apocalypse and he can't figure out why it hasn't gotten any better...  Oneshot.  Drabble.


**A/N:** Just a short one-shot that popped into my head after one of my own revelations of a similar sort. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>He hadn't imagined it would be like this. After the apocalypse had ended - after they had ended it - things were supposed to change. Everything was supposed to evolve, shift and slip back into place, making each sacrifice worth the price.<p>

…but nothing had so much as budged, even accidentally.

Everything he had hoped for… Everything he _knew_ was supposed to happen…

In one fleeting moment, all of his expectations, hopes and the crushing weight of holding Heaven together fell upon him. And what of Father's plan? What of His creation and the beauty of His "chosen people?"

What of Humanity?

Castiel stared up at the midnight sky, stars glittering overhead like gemstones without the glare of the moon to steal their shine. His face was smooth, completely devoid of any evidence that whatever hope he had had for the future was rapidly crumbling and seeping away.

It had been almost two years since the near miss that would have been the end of all creation. At first, he had been certain that he had been rewarded. Only Father would have been capable of restoring him from oblivion and he knew - _undeniably felt with every fiber of his existence _- that only Father could have restored his connection to Heaven in full.

He had wasted no time then. The joy he had felt had been barely containable and he wanted to return to Heaven to thank Father for his gifts. However, there was work to be done and loose ends to tie up. He helped Dean first, healing the physical even though the scars of the emotional could never fully close. Then without a word, he had brought the older hunter back and simply vanished.

At the time, the choice to return home had seemed like the obvious pick. He hadn't even so much as seen Heaven in months, which was nothing to an angel, and yet, Castiel had felt like a child abandoned by his family and the mere thought of the lost contact for that amount of time had passed agonizingly slow. He craved to be with his brothers and sisters, fulfilling his role as an Angel of the Lord. He craved the companionship and the routine. He craved the normalcy that ever was and ever would be his entire purpose.

It was no surprise that he had been overwhelmed with relief the instant he realized he had made it through the gates. However, any semblance of love and purity that he had so desperately been seeking to comfort himself after his trial was nowhere to be found.

All that had awaited was an outraged hierarchy of Archangels searching for answers. It had started innocently, Castiel complying with their demands and fully answering their questions. Without thought, he launched into the entire story, not sparing a detail of the Winchester's plight nor their good deeds. He spun his tale excitedly and his brethren had listened patiently. However, it was Raphael that had spoken when Castiel had finally ended the epic; his voice had been even, his face stern, and although Castiel had noticed the tension, he had misinterpreted the reasoning.

It would be a mistake that he would barely escape in time.

He had managed to dodge the first strike, the tip of the archangel blade tearing through fabric and grazing flesh. The second had been a bit more difficult. Fortunately, it hadn't been lethal and before any more damage could be done, Castiel fled from Heaven, hiding himself on Earth.

At first, he had picked abandoned buildings, sealing himself within by use of sigils and forgotten symbols. Days passed slowly, a constant fear for his existence mixing with the absolute dread of what had befallen Heaven. It was complete anarchy without Michael's leadership. He had suspected it would happen, but to see it for himself…

Castiel blinked and just like that, the memories receded to tolerable levels. He had expected a transformation, an affirmation of the beliefs that he treasured above all others. With each passing second, his resolve fell away and he realized with sudden clarity that there was nothing better than this.

He cast his gaze downward, taking in the sight of the moist earth beneath his feet as his lips pressed together in a firm line. There was nothing but himself and a small rebel army standing between Heaven's wrath and that which was planted firmly beneath him.

Understanding took hold then, a sudden clarity that maybe - just maybe - all hope wasn't lost quite yet.

There was a soft breeze and the sound of rustling feathers as the angel disappeared and with him, he carried a new resolve to protect that which he had fought so hard to keep from destruction to begin with.

* * *

><p>TrebleMaker<p> 


End file.
